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The Smiling Dragons
The Smiling Dragons The Smiling Dragons are a motley collection of lost souls who came together under the guidance of Atlas J. Hawk. Hired for a job, they found they worked well as a team, despite the wildly different outlooks, backgrounds and viewpoints, and have formed a faction for mutual protection and to achieve a mysterious “goal”. ' Comprised mostly of people who never really fit in anywhere, The Smiling Dragons has become somewhat a home for the Weft’s most colourful individuals, people who felt they did not fit in anywhere, or whose behaviour left them at odds with other factions. Atlas recognized their worth, gave them a home, roles to feel useful, and a goal to work towards. This has lead to them becoming fiercely loyal to the group, and in a strange twist, each other, despite the near constant bickering between members. They have each found a home in the Dragons, A sense of belonging they perhaps did not even know they NEEDED. As such, they have formed a close group, that while on the surface act if they can’t stand each other, is VERY quick to come to each other’s aid. The Smiling Dragons Seem to work almost at random, offering no allegiance to Light or Shadow, Working for whomever pays. However Altas J. Hawk DOES seem to be guiding them towards some grand endgoal….. Members * Altas J. Hawk * Orinamaya * Thifgrim Stormchaser (EX member) * Ryu Takanashi * Desirae * Brom (Fell in Battle) * Elric * Blaigo (EX member) * Mortimus (Hireling and Friend) The bandit stumbled back, his high pitched screaming echoing off the ruins. The fire that was currently consuming his head lit the night, A sickly orange glow making the horror almost surreal. The Dark elf girl skipped past the burning man, her smile widening as he screamed. Thifgrim muttered to himself, crouched behind a rock. “ That's NOT the bloody plan! Crazy wench as blown the bloody plan!” He lept to his feet, yelling for the other members of the Smiling Dragons to follow him, from their hiding places, and join the fight. ' Bandits were coming to the feet, out of tents, and making ready to fight, as the shock of what they thought was a sweet, and VERY willing, lady of the night turned into a flame-flinging maniac, smiling as she burnt man and tent alike. Added to the shock was the sudden appearance of a group of screaming, armed attackers, such a strange, mis matched group they were! Leading the charge, Pistol spitting leaded death was Of all things a Dwarven Pirate, Followed by a half elf, massive shield outstretched, sword flicking out to find it’s way deep into bandit flesh. On the other side, a massive Vyklander, growling and snarling with barely contained animal rage, Smashing and beating down foes with axe and shield. At the back, A dashing figure, clad in finery of a distinctive murathi cut, A top hat on his head, Stood, flanked by an imposing greatsword wielder, and a staff carrying monk. One of the bandits, perhaps seeing easy prey, leaps out from behind, charging the top-hat wearing fop, axe held high above his head, screaming a warcry. Casually, seemingly without a care, the man raises a hand, and whispers a few words. The bandit stops, eyes wide, and the man leans close, speaking softly into his ear. He then clasps him on the shoulders, as if they were old friends, before pointing back towards the fray. The bandit smiles, nods, and runs down, stabbing and slashing at his former colleagues as he goes, taking out three men, before getting hacked down himself. The fury of the assault, the fire raining down, and the seeming betrayal of their own men breaks the bandits, and they run, leaving behind not a small number of dead and dying. The flame-casting elf skips merrily from body to body, looting then burning the corpses. One tries to flee, crawling away on broken limbs, the results of a run in with the Vykland shifter. Pouting, the elf raises a hand, witch-fire bursting into scarlet light around it. Before she can use the fireball, The man’s head explodes, followed almost instantly by the sound of a pistol shot. “Gods, Elf, you don’t need to burn them ALL, the smell!” The dwarf shakes his head. “My TOY! He broke my TOY!” the elf stomps off, towards the man in the hat. “Altas!” “now, now, dear, he is right, the smell is a little...of putting…. Look, Ryu is unable to contain himself…” The Monk was bent double, the contents of his stomach pooling on the ground in front of him…” By all the Gods and the Nine, the STENCH! Who knew!!” The Monk folded down into in sitting position, and began to chant. “ Aye, my boy. Burning hair, skin, and fat. It has a unique smell. Stays with you, huh?” The dwarf walks over to the pair, looking down at the monk. “You’ll be fine, boy. Try and breath through your mouth. And you, Elf, what was that? Sneak in, get the chest, sneak out, and we’d cover your escape. That WAS the plan, right? WHAT HAPPENED?” “Hey, at least we got a fight…” the Vyklander wandered over to join the discussion. “That was fun.” “Not much of one, if you asked me. “ The Half elf interjected, looking up from the body he was looting. “Didn’t even break a sweat.” The Dwarf sighed, “That’s NOT the point! We had a PLAN! And WHY is the tent containing the chest ON FIRE? ORINAMAYA!” Category:Factions